The Angel and the Elf
by Cressida123
Summary: As such, with the guilt came a needle that pierced so deep into her mind Natalie thought she might wretch. But she didn't. She fought. She smiled and pretended everything was sunshine and rainbows like a good little pawn. Though as soon this hellhole was over, as soon as Mr. Forkle let his guard down, she'd leave. She just had to bide her time until she could.
1. Prologue

**All rights go to Shannon. But the oc's are mine!**

Hi! Cressida123 here! I wanna say sorry to all of you who have been waiting for the next chapt of Rise(bows before angry crowd cracking their fists). PLEASE FORGIVE ME! And don't worry, I plan to post over weekend, so you won't have to wait long ;D. For now, please enjoy this prologue! I can't tell you were this story is heading yet-due to some spoilers for some major plot twists I have planned. Ugh-but I can tell you this was BEFORE Evanne's birth. So, yeah, hope you enjoy!

All credit to BuddingWriter101 for giving me this idea ;D. You are awesome! P.s The things are because I am unable to make a line spreading these apart. Bleh. Also, sorry if I confused some of you. It wouldn't let me say Mr. Forkle for some reason. I fixed it though!

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Natalie flinched as the needles bombarded her mind, prying at the cracks of her consciousness.

To break her, pull her apart until she nothing but empty flesh-a body without a mind. Her hand immediately went out to steady herself against the desk strewn with papers, all failed recorded testings.

No, not know, the blacknette thought. Not yet. Not when they were so close.

"Are you okay?" Natalie's grandfather, Mr. Forkle -as their test subject would come to know them-asked her, his keen blue eyes watching the 13 year old girl with pellucid concern.

Despite her pain, Natalie did her best to muster a convincing smile.

"Yes, grandfather. My condition is stable," she answered, a plastic grin pressed on cupid's-bow lips.

She couldn't be further from the truth.

At the very least, her response seemed to satisfy the old man. "Very well. We have gone through 18 other test subjects, and so far the results have been less than satisfactory," his expression hardened. "Time is of the essence Natalie. With Prentice's mind break, there is a chance the council will interfere with our plans. We can not let them find Project Moonlark-at least not yet."

If one was looking closer, they might have seen Natalie visibly flinch.

Project Moonlark: The one who would change the elvin world for the better. The one who would alter the course of history. The one who would make the blind council see once again.

So why,god why, were they causing her to endure this hell?

Mr. Forkle wasn't experiencing this pain. He was far too caught up in his research to see that this was wrong, that what they were doing made them the worst of the worst. He lied to himself everyday. Natalie couldn't blame him, it was easier.

Fortunately for the girl, at that very moment, Calla-the carmel haired, gray eyed gnome in charge of making sure Sophie's, as they named number nineteen, creation process was natural and did nothing to harm the innocent life of a child-walked through the door.

"Child, you're pale as snow. What's wrong?" Calla questioned, rushing towards the thirteen year when she saw her condition, blatant worry evident on her rough, earthy face. She placed her hand on Natalie's forehead, then retracted it with a frown.

"You're burning up," she concluded, swiveling to stare up at Natalie with pursed lips. "You should rest."

The young blacknette shot the older woman a shaky smile she hoped was cogent. Damnit, she was faking a lot today.

"I assure you Calla, I am well," Natalie answered.

The gnome fixed her ancient, warm gray eyes up at her, unconvinced, but knew better than to pry. So, when she turned her heated gaze away, Natalie let out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding.

"Sophie is ready. I suggest we begin to tweak her genes in Room Gamma right now."

Mr. Forkle nodded. "Yes, thank you Calla. We shall be on our way."

And with that, he turned on his heel and made his way through the room cluttered with lab equipment towards the giant crystal door that led to Room Gamma.

But Natalie stayed in place, taking deep, steadying breaths to mentally prepare herself for the inevitable. For the horror that shouldn't even exist.

She remembered all the lives she'd taken-all the people, CHILDREN,who hadn't even gotten a chance at life, simply because they weren't Project Moonlark. Simply because THEY said so. What gave them the right to decide who existed and who didn't? No one, that's who. Natalie felt more vile and disgusting with each new subject. With each new baby killed.

Calla didn't know.

Of course she didn't. If she did, she'd probably beat Mr. Forkle and her to a pulp, heal them, then injure them tenfold. But no. No one knew except for Natalie and her grandfather. A nightmare kept under wraps. A road that should never have been walked on.

She recalled every one of the offspring.

From sweet, beautiful Izzy-the youngest of the eighteen- with her large, dark brown eyes, to Alex, who was the most active of the children, curling his toes and fingers constantly, everyone of them was drilled into memory. EACH and EVERY one. It didn't help the pain in the slightest-in fact, it often made it unbearable at times. The blacknette cursed her photographic memory with a passion.

She often thought of what could have been.

Would Mercedes have become an opera or pop singer when she grew up? Both made sense, given her love for human opera and pop music. She would have brought something special to the Lost Cities if she was still alive. Natalie also had no doubt in her mind that Jason would have been a heart breaker when he grew older-he was very handsome, after all, with palest of the pale brown eyes with bright golden flecks, and, of what she could see at the time, wispy platinum blonde hair.

Then there was Natalie's favorite of them all: Cressida. What would she have been doing later in her now ended life? Like a cobra, guilt then wound its way around the 13 year old's stomach, squeezing until the girl thought she'd burst.

As such, with the guilt came a needle that pierced so deep into her mind Natalie thought she might wretch. But she didn't. She fought. She smiled and pretended everything was sunshine and rainbows like a good little pawn. Though as soon this hellhole was over, as soon as Mr. Forkle let his guard down, she'd leave. She just had to bide her time until she could.

Until then, Natalie hoped she didn't fall apart at the seams.

"Natalie!" Mr. Forkle called to her from where he stood by the door, tapping his foot impatiently. "Are you coming?"

His grandaughter plastered a grin on her pale features. "Yes, I'm coming," she replied, as she rushed to meet by the door.

But as she ran, Natalie crossed her fingers behind her back. Hopefully, you're the one meant to be Project Moonlark little suldreen, she thought darkly.

Otherwise, she didn't know how much more of this she could take.


	2. One mans trash is another's treasure

**All rights go to Shannon. But the oc's are mine!**

Welp, I'm back! After like... seven weeks. Oops? Sorry, I meant to update when I got Flashback, but this chapter was honestly bugging me. Have I mentioned how much I hate writing actions? They just seem so... boring. Anyway, here is chapter one "Online Dating? Psh! I found my Lover in a Trashcan." And, yes, that is the actual name. Lol.

Shout out to ProjectMoonlark101 for inspiring me! I never meant to write this chapter, and didn't even think someone would even take the time to review this, so thank you! *More Air Hugs!* You, are awesome. And another shout out Fading-Fading-Gone for following and favoriting me! Have no idea why you did that to me of all people, but hi! Glad to have you.

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"And don't forget to feed the cat twice a day: Once in the morning, once in the afternoon," Michael's mother, Louise, reminded him for the millionth time that day as he flipped through TV-channels on the floral patterned couch. There was practically nothing on to drown out her sharp, booming voice.

"Uh huh, yeah, okay," Michael replied, not paying the older woman any heed.

"And don't spend all night playing those god awful video games and doing your homework last minute! Lord knows how many times that's happened. You've gotten cocky after making it into honors math."

"Uh huh, yeah, sure," Michael responded automatically. It seemed SpongeBob was the only good thing on.

"And remember to… WAIT! ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING!" Louise suddenly exclaimed, slamming her palms against the table her son had strewn his legs on, and he jumped.

Finally, the boy looked up to meet the penetrating gaze of a very angry young women. With proud scars from old boxing matches marred on the right side of her face, jade green eyes that, at the moment, were daggers in a heart-shaped frame, pixie cut auburn hair, along with an infamous temper and the well known fact that if pushed the wrong way she could snap your neck in half a second, Louise Williams was a sight to behold. Michael, by comparison, was painfully average; his eyes were flat and his hair a caramel curly mop on his head; most people said he appeared more like his now long-dead father.

Not that he would know. He'd never even met the guy. Sometimes, it was hard to believe he and his mother were even related.

Dark, amber flecked orbs then rolled so high he could see the ceiling at her question. "Feed the cat twice a day-once in the morning, once in the afternoon-do my homework, blah blah," he answered, before turning back to the TV.

His mother hurumped. "Well, aren't you a smart alack," then, he expression turned solemn. "I'm just worried, Michael. You've never been home alone before-much less for three days."

Once again, brown eyes rotated. For god's sake he was twelve years old-practically a teen. He could handle himself while his mother had a well deserved vacation from his admittedly idiotic antics. Besides, what could go wrong? The most terrifying thing here was a New York squirrel.

Michael shivered, remembering how the bushy-tailed beast had clawed at an old mans face for his chicken-wing. Despite being fluffy and adorable, those things were still downright horrifying as hell.

"How many times do I have to tell you: I'LL BE FINE! So you just go out, enjoy yourself, and maybe pick up a few guy friends along the way," Michael said to his fretting mother, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

In response, the parent snorted. "Yeah right. As if."

One might think that a widowed, single parent would desire a companion to live out the rest of their days with, but Louise Williams had always been annoyingly loyal to Michael's six-feet under father-a trait that led to the overwhelming urge to punch his idiotic mother in the face, though that would undoubtedly end with a few broken bones on his part, as said mom was a retired boxer.

He could never quite understand the fact of loving someone to the point of giving up your life so that they could live in your place like those old disney movies. To be so fond of a person that you'd want to be with them and ONLY them for the rest of your life, instead of finding happiness a little closer to home.

He'd felt attraction, sure-he was growing hormonal male, after all- , but they were just that: Attractions, crushes. Something you felt obligated to have lest you be abandoned by the younger generation.

Instead of becoming angry with his mother's ignorance however, he simply slipped on her green coat over broad shoulders, took her hand and dragged her out of the living room.

"MICHAEL! HANG ON! STOP!" Louise cried in alarm as she dug her heels into the floor in an attempt to halt his impatient tugging-but was to no avail. Michael tossed her her leopard print purse from the marble counter-top.

"Bye, See ya, adios, Au revoir-whatever other words mean, So long sucker!" Michael exclaimed, before slamming the door in his mother's perturbed face. He then slumped against the molding wood, a sigh of relief escaping heart-shaped lips.

Finally, alone at last, Michael thought. His moment of relief was then interrupted by a swift rapt to the door.

"What!" he yelled in response. God, his mother was far to overprotective for her own good. Or in other words, his.

"Michael, I just wanted to remind you to take out the trash," and…. Cue aggravated groans. "And it better be done by the time I come home!"

And with that, the sound of their rusty old convertible roaring to life filled the air as he watched his mother back out of the driveway and speed out of sight. Then, he turned towards the practically overflowing trash bag sitting ominously, like a doleful reminder of his ensuing work, in the corner of the room. The twelve year old sighed before hauling the tearing plastic onto his shoulder, and stalking down the creaking steps leading to their yard-which, wasn't much of yard at all; in fact, it was but a home for overgrown weeds and flower buds, surrounded by a white picket fence. Though that was be expected. After all, it was difficult to grow anything in the bustling city of New York.

Pushing the fence door ajar so hard the rusted hinges screeched, Michael rounded the corner and tossed the bag into a nearby ally. But just as he was about turn to leave for his beloved video games, that's when he heard it: A noise. Coming from the alleyway.

"What….. the ….heck?" the brunette whispered, his heart skipping a beat and ice running through his veins, as he swiveled in the direction of the sound.

Was that? No! It couldn't be! He thought, shaking carmel curls back. But what else could that low, pained sound be, if not for the groan of a human being? Could it be…. THE BURGLAR I'VE HEARD ABOUT ON TV! Michael panicked, remembering the man, with dark, harrowed eyes-the eyes of killer- and a shaved head, who'd been robbing places in Manhattan recently-even MURDERING to get what he wanted. His heart transcended from skips into leaps and bounds at the very thought.

But no, the boy attempted to calm his hammering heartbeat. The robber was in Manhattan. Michael lived in Brooklyn. There was absolutely NO WAY the man, Steve Johnson, as the twelve-year old recalled, could be here! It was probably just an animal rifling through the trash, he reasoned with himself.

Still, when he made his way over, slowly, hesitantly, he snatched a bat leaning against the blanc wood of the surrounding fence.

"H-hello," Michael called out, shakingly poking the unknown being with the tip of his weapon.

Another groan.

Michael jumped back, his heart racing a mile a minute. Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap! He was gonna die! He was gonna die! His mother was gonna discover his bloodied and mangled body when she came back and she was gonna be so upset and Gabe and Alya would come to his funeral and and and...

Nothing occured.

Huh? The juvenile male thought, taking a step forward to fully see the creature in question.

And what he saw, definitely WASN'T what he was expecting-the flash of steal and savage gaze of a criminal vanishing from his mind completely.

For there, in between two trash cans, was a girl, her pale face scrunched up-why was that?- in pain. Long, jet black tresses were swept back in a loose ponytail by a lavender clip, two errant curls framing her heart shaped face, dark lashes casting spiked shadows over high cheekbones.

Michael twitched, he wanted to know what her eyes looked like beneath those lids. Would they dark brown like melted chocolate? Or maybe green, like the first hint of life against the bare wasteland of snow? Or perhaps…. Blue?

Whatever they were, one thing was clear: she was beautiful, angelic-perfect in every way…. That is, if one didn't look downwards, of course. If one did, they'd see a smattering of crimson staining the fabric of her strange, dark purple gown that could only be one thing:

Blood.

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Man, this chapter is so bad. Lol. I'm sure you've already figured out who the girl is. Welp, we'll find out what happened to her next chapter. Though unlessyou guys keep bothering me about it, don't expect an update.


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